Inspiration
by thecasualty
Summary: A one-shot. I realize that it isn't necessarily a "screenplay" but this site never has a category for "randoms", so the story relays a short history of the love affair between two people.


**Inspiration.**

It's a lovely day you know. There are no clouds in the sky; it's as blue as the ocean. The sun is shining, warm and suffocating. Birds are chirping; there's even a sweet breeze to indicate summers approach. The air's infused with carbon because of the slow exhausts of the cars that drive by, and the emptied lungs of kids with cigs. I certainly don't feel so good. It might as well be gray. Right now it is so beautiful outside, but I don't feel so beautiful. I find myself forced to explain, it seems only appropriate to elaborate on such a contradiction. Why shouldn't I feel good? It's spring and nice as hell, and everyone seems sufficiently happy, sufficiently sufficient. Hah, well let me tell you.

I met someone once, on a cold day, a cold snowy day. It was December. Holidays were approaching, so school was nearly over. I was with a friend named Sean, and to attend empty classes proved to be very uninteresting to me. I hadn't skipped school in awhile anyway, so instead, I went across the street to the little plaza where all the cool kids I didn't know were, and sat down at a table with four chairs. Those chairs were filled up with people quickly. It was me amongst strangers. Well almost. Sean was no stranger than I was. There was another girl there too. She was wearing a black sweater and her hair swept across her face. She had a tiny bow clipped on the side of her head. When she spoke, her voice ricocheted off all the surfaces of the food court. It was so lively, so very lively. And I smiled at her, feeling quite nervous. I was told her name was Laura. Beside her was another person. A boy. His name was Paul. He had these big eyes, nice, round turquoise eyes that could see right through you. I felt strangely vulnerable, strangely unveiled in front of him. He had a red mohawk and he wore a leather jacket. I certainly knew who he was, but at that point, he was just another guy who went out with a girl I knew. Wasn't he? With everyone acquainted I suppose we played cards. I suppose, because I can't really remember. It had to have been laughs. That strange, quiet guy who looked like all the world was to hate was laughing, with me. I gave him my glasses to wear, because everyone always tried them on. The polka dot scarf tied to my purse, we tied to his neck. I must admit, polka dots and black frames on a guy with a mohawk gave us a really good laugh. I swear we even took a picture. I think we really embarrassed that guy Paul, but he seemed okay. I left after that, I mean, it was an interesting experience, although a very cold day, and despite feeling quite unhappy with myself over the last few months, I felt good. Good enough at least. So I went home feeling happy. When I got home that day, that silly stranger messaged me. It was only 'hi', but it was surprising. And we talked about all kinds of things; things about love, things about disappointment, things about me, about him. When I had to go, I promised we'd talk again. We did. Finally there was a different guy in my life, who was different, and who didn't make me feel like shit. It felt good.

After our first conversation, we had quite a few conversations. And it turned into a routine. We started talking on the phone, because I had a cell and he had a cell, and I said, "give me a call some time" and he said he would. We would talk right into the late hours of night, and I'd fall asleep with the phone dead on my chest. We talked about everything too; words were never a problem. Neither were ideas. We talked about all kinds of shit, bullshit, sad shit, happy shit, shit that was irrelevant to other shit, and shit never felt so good. What sustained us Christmas holidays, I don't know. Was it food? Or lack of sleep? I worked a lot too. And there was a stranger on my mind; I couldn't focus on any of my tasks. During those two weeks, we had begun to settle. It was very comfortable between us, cozy and tender, I was scared. I feared going back to school, because of all the changes we'd meet. I felt that things would change. So returning to school was very strange and awkward, and seeing Paul was strange and awkward, for we only started seeing each other over the break. We didn't know how to express it well. But after a couple of complicated days where I was too afraid to bring up how we felt, I did. It turned out to be alright, and we were quickly regarded as an 'item'. We held hands in the halls, and called each other every night and every day and during work hours. We spent a lot of time together. I told him I loved him, and he told me he loved me too. I think he lied. Around exam time, he told me he wasn't interested in having a girlfriend. Yet we weren't even really dating. It was an awful experience, and I was very unhappy that week when things had all but changed again. All that remained were feelings and not quite more. Eventually I was reduced to a state of decline, and he was ignoring me. I find now that I would've felt greater relief had the story ended there. Unfortunately, relief is a hard-earned thing.

February introduced semi-formal to the school atmosphere, and he was supposed to be my date. I was reluctant to approach him about the topic, I was reluctant to approach him at all, but he said he would still like to go with me. Another girl and I dressed up quite beautifully, decorated with ribbons and pearls and lace and heels. We had fancy hair-dos and colourful makeup and you could almost call us drop-dead. And we went. When I saw him and he saw me, we acted very proper, I suppose formal dress will do that, and we smoked cigarettes while he was flying high. It may have been the drugs that provoked his desire, but in the end, he desired me. That evening, I felt very anxious. I was trying to be openly flirtatious, but subtle and mysterious; I don't know how well that worked out. We danced a bit and when I was exhausted, we retired to our chairs. I sat on his lap and he spoke to me, his words coming out backwards. He looked horribly attractive in all the colourful lowlights. And when he kissed me, it felt surreal, yet, so real compared to all the old fleeting pecks on my cheeks and lips. Sure enough, we were like a fire reignited. I had never felt desire and wanton as I did then. We started talking again on the phone, and holding hands again and it seemed we acted quite in love. Later that week, we got drunk and stumbled along a path by a snow-covered pond, frozen, with smokes in our hands. We could barely hang onto each other. Suddenly everyone just disappeared, and we were left alone on such a beautiful night. I suppose we were quite intoxicated and I'm not sure if we were simply making mistakes, but hell, I'm sure good at making mistakes. Next thing you know, he was mine. All mine. That night I slept at a girl named Ali's house with a girl named Sabrina and that girl Laura, and we laughed and smiled and I felt happy. When we sobered up and managed to sleep, I thought of Paul, about our exclusiveness and for a month and a half, he was the only boy I thought of.

The only nervousness he gave me was all in his touch, blowing air at the back of my neck, drawing circles on my skin. It sent tingles and silly sensations up my leg and along my spine. It felt blissful and sexy and those things we tried, well I won't name them because they are far too luscious and they are my secrets, but I must admit, they were highly sinful and racy. I sure hope I didn't make far too many mistakes, but at the time, love seemed beautiful.

As of now, I sit here, and he sits right over there, and being around each other is awkward. We've exchanged the things that belong to one another and it's quite bluntly over. The only kind of nervous feeling I get from him now is the kind where my heart races and my lungs begin to tighten and I swear I'll die. I can't look at him because looking at him makes my blood turn cold, and my mind-senseless and numb. Even if I love him and even if he said it more than once, and meant it only once, he remains there, a footfall away. My back is to him and sure enough there's a pretty blonde on his mind, who is the replica of his dreams. I'm glad I gave him the foresight to get that back. Still, I don't know, because it's a very sunny day, the world is filling with fumes, my hearts racing and I'm not even sure what sadness is anymore. There's a story for you.


End file.
